


Parental Responsibility, The Immediate Remix

by Bella_Dahlia



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Are Fencing Team AUs a Thing?, Fencing Team AU, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hungry Clint Barton, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Protective Steve Rogers, Snarky Tony Stark, Team as Family, They are now, Tony Stark's Flirting Skills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28740549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bella_Dahlia/pseuds/Bella_Dahlia
Summary: The knee jerk impulse to be annoyed at anyone fretting over him warred with Tony’s intense desire to have Steve pay him any attention at all. Tony Stark was addicted to attention: anyone could tell you that, and he didn’t bother to deny it. He had turned attention seeking into an art form, had a seemingly never ending arsenal of tactics and zero compunction about using any of them. He needled, he wheedled, he whined, he groused; he used his words, he used his body, and when all else failed he broke down to childhood habits and just invented something.And none of them worked on Steve.OR that time the Avengers were a Collegiate Fencing Team and still emotional disasters.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 9
Kudos: 62





	Parental Responsibility, The Immediate Remix

**Author's Note:**

> Eternal gratitude and infinite kudos to [elwenyere](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elwenyere/pseuds/elwenyere) for providing quite literally the sweetest cheer read of this so that I would finally stop sitting on it and post it. Seriously, teeth aching goodness that I am forever indebted to.
> 
> The prompt was just too funny for me to not represent my other favorite Marvel ship.

“Why don’t you talk about your parents?”

The question was so startling, and yet so gentle, that for a moment Tony Stark didn’t even process it. He continued to stare at the phone in his hands, but the screen became unfocused, just a blur of pale light cutting through the darkness of the van.

Blinking owlishly, Tony turned his head to look towards the driver’s seat and the speaker. Steve’s eyes were on the road, his hands loosely but somehow precisely at ten and two on the wheel, looking exactly the same as he had for the last three hours of the trip. But, no; another look confirmed the slightest frown worrying his mouth, the faint furrow of his brow.

Steven Grant Rogers, Captain of the Sword & Shield University Fencing Team, had on his Concerned Face.

The knee jerk impulse to be annoyed at anyone fretting over him warred with Tony’s intense desire to have Steve pay him any attention at all. Tony Stark was addicted to attention: anyone could tell you that, and he didn’t bother to deny it. He had turned attention seeking into an art form, had a seemingly neverending arsenal of tactics and zero compunction about using any of them. He needled, he wheedled, he whined, he groused; he used his words, he used his body, and when all else failed he broke down to childhood habits and just invented something.

And none of them worked on Steve. 

Tony had built DUM-E out of the sheer frustration of two years of school spent with Steve Rogers barely giving him more than a raised eyebrow and a resigned smile. Two years of living in the same dorms, of sharing at least one class a semester. Christ, Tony even joined the freaking fencing club just because Steve _asked_. It was pathetic. 

At least he turned out to be pretty decent at Sabre and didn’t get cut from the team. 

It wasn’t that Steve ignored him. It was that Steve didn’t focus on him either. Steve gave Tony the same pleasant smiles and generic claps on the back that he gave everyone on the team. He gave the same energizing speeches, and the same commiserations when a match didn’t go well. They had lunch together every Tuesday and Thursday with Rhodey and Sam, just like they had since the first week of freshman year when they didn’t know anyone. Steve would come to Tony’s parties, but he always, _always_ had Bucky Barnes glued to his side, and that grump wouldn’t let them do much more than claim a couch and nurse a beer. Movie nights, art shows, off campus excursions: all of their friends were always invited and at least half of them always showed up. Tony could count the number of text messages Steve had sent to him, just him, outside of group chats, on one hand.

It was like Steve had a spreadsheet in his head of exactly how much personal time he should give to his friends, and checklists of exactly what kinds of interactions he would have with them each week, and he refused to deviate from the plan. Steve treated Tony like every other friend he had on campus, and Tony wanted so much _more_.

Of course he wanted his arms elbow deep in Rogers’ pants, because he was human and Steve was the most unassuming Walking-Sex-On-A-Stick Tony had ever encountered. It should have been infuriating, how oblivious Steve was to his ungodly level of attractiveness; instead it somehow added to his completely unironic Aw Shucks Charm. But wanting sex was something Tony understood, and could therefore control. Far more disturbing were the moments he caught himself idly wondering if Steve preferred to hold hands with laced fingers or mitten style, or daydreaming about getting to doze through Movie Night with his head on Steve’s shoulder, or wanting to know what brand of charcoal Steve liked best for sketching so he could buy more before the last nubs ran out. Those moments spoke of something messy, and complicated, and intoxicatingly dangerous. Spoke of something Tony felt wholly unprepared to unpack; but since the Jolly Blonde Giant was always so frustratingly, annoyingly, predictably generic towards him, it didn’t seem to be a problem.

Until Steve asked a deeply personal question at 1:30 in the morning during an overnight drive to the next meet with half a dozen of their teammates conked out in the back of the van.

“I’m sorry, I think I was asleep, I dreamt that you actually encouraged me to open my mouth instead of blessing my rare moment of silence.” Tony said. He needed to buy the time to actually process the question.

The poor light could have been deceiving, but he thought he saw a bit of a flush in Steve’s face. “I just—you never talk about your family,” he replied, his voice staying quiet. 

“Uh, yeah, we’re in college, Cap,” Tony said slowly. “Why on earth would I talk about parental units when I’m trying to sow my wild oats? Spread my metaphorical seed? Generally party like a loon while sailing through my classes, much to the aggravation of others?”

Steve let out a short breath. Ah yes, the one consistent reaction Tony did manage to get out of him: frustration. “You’ve heard me talk about my mother,” he said.

“Yes, well, you’re a Mama’s boy. In the sweetest way possible, truly, you make those apron strings really work with your ensemble.”

Steve risked a glance to the passenger seat to give him a scowl, but it was still good natured. Hadn’t pushed his luck too hard yet. “Bucky talks about his family. I know about Thor’s brother, and Clint and Natasha talk about their Dad.”

Tony couldn’t resist the urge to squirm in his seat, but he did manage to translate it into looking like he was just slouching into a more comfortable position. Of all of the idle daydreams, the half spin fantasies of when he finally got Steve’s undivided attention, none of them had ever included getting the second degree about his familial relations. 

“You’ve known Bucky since you were five,” he countered. “Thor talks about everyone. Thor doesn’t just not know what a filter is, he wouldn’t believe it existed if you told him about it. And the Épeé Twins only begrudgingly acknowledge their foster dad’s existence because Coulson’s our coach. They don’t actually talk to anyone, I know you have to have noticed. They share significant glances, and have a complicated dialogue system built off of chin nods and eye rolls.”

“Tony.” There it was, that resigned gripe that seemed to be saved especially for their interactions. “I’m trying to— “

“Listen, whatever team building exercise you’re trying to rope me into here, can we just reschedule it for sometime never?” Tony picked his phone back up, not really focusing on it but wanting something for his hands to play with. “I could forward you my therapist’s notes if that would make this whole thing go faster.”

From the other side of the van, Steve let out a sigh. “Do you always have to do that?”

“Yes. No. Possibly, it depends, you wanna define your dangling definite article?”

“Push me away.” Now that… That was something entirely new. Something Tony was not prepared for. Steve’s voice was pained in a way that it made Tony’s insides shrivel. It sounded so personal and so sad, and how on earth did he do that to a guy that barely seemed to give him the time of day?

“What—I don’t—that—” Tony was sputtering, his brain blanking in the moment. He swallowed and dropped his legs from the dashboard, sitting forward in his seat so he could stare at Steve’s profile. “You don’t like me.”

Steve started. “What?”

“You barely tolerate me,” Tony continued. “I annoy you, and I frustrate you, and I definitely more than a little bit piss you off when I decide I can make awesome upgrades to our protective equipment—” 

“They’re not going to let us compete with non-regulation masks, Tony, I don’t care how much cooler it looks to give everyone their own unique color scheme.”

“See, you can’t stand me!” Tony completed with a quiet hiss. “Wait, you admit it looks cool?”

“Tony. Focus.” Steve flexed his grip on the steering wheel while taking a steadying breath. “I’m trying to get to know you. I’ve _been_ trying to get to know you for years now. It can be a challenge, you know, with the way you… hold court.”

“The way I what now?” Tony interjected. He attempted to hold firm on his objection, but the steady raised Eyebrows of Judgement that Steve sent his way had their intended effect. “Perhaps I roll with a bit of an entourage,” he conceded.

“I just wanted to get past the show.” A weight hung in Steve’s voice that had never been there before, soft but heavy. Almost a yearning. “I wanted to know who was under the overblown impression of The Amazingly Absurd Tony Stark that you present to the rest of the world. I asked about your parents because I want to be…” He seemed to swallow back what he was about to say, attempting to contain the sheer amount of emotion that had already been released. “To be your friend, Tony, your real friend.”

Silence fell in the van, broken only by the soft snores of the sleeping teammates behind them. In his seat, Tony sat with his stomach feeling like it was hovering somewhere around his ankles, twisted and roiling with new information he didn’t know what to with.

“Huh,” he said, because he was a young man known for his elegance and charm in stressful situations.

“Yeah,” Steve murmured. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve pushed. I should have respected your boundaries, I don’t want—”

“I don’t talk about my parents because I don’t know them.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before Tony had time to consider them. “I spent my whole life in the care of nannies, and butlers, and boarding schools, and the rare moments I spend in the company of my illustrious parents it’s made abundantly clear I’m a disappointment to the Stark name, and it would be in the my best interest to just go ahead and fulfill my destiny of being a lackluster fuck up.”

For a moment Steve couldn’t figure out a response, just let the moment hang with a shocked, appalled silence. “That’s…. Not what parents are supposed to be.”

“And this is why I haven’t introduced anyone to Howard Stark’s A+ Parenting Style,” Tony said. “I’ve watched television, y’know, I get that it’s messed up.”

“It isn’t right,” Steve agreed. His expression morphed, the look that the team had dubbed his Righteous Clarity coming over him, all jutted chin and flintly glint in his eyes. “Family is more than blood. It’s made. It’s chosen. You can have family with us. With me.”

Tony blinked. “Are you… offering to be my surrogate father?” he asked, unable to keep a slightly hysterical grin off of his face.

Steve responded with one of his endearingly sweet lopsided smiles. “Why not? I can be your Dad. And your Mom. Your Dom.”

To Tony’s infinite credit, he allowed Steve to come to the realization on his own.

“Shit, wait, no.”

The laughter curled up in Tony’s chest with a physical ache, lingering there as he choked on it. He pressed one of his hands to his mouth and let the other one theatrically clutch at the passenger window, all the while attempting not to hyperventilate and not to wake up their teammates. Part of him felt like Steve deserved it, to have to deal with cranky friends and to publicly live with the shame of such a truly terrible misstep in his speech.

But that part of him was small. The rest was so overwhelmed by Steve’s admission that he thought he might melt into the chair any moment. Tony goo, brought to you by the power of Steve Rogers’ misguided attempts at affection. It was enough to send him into a bit of a panic, flailing at his lack of understanding of how to respond to such a gesture. 

“Y’know, I always sorta pegged you for a sub, but I can call you Daddy any day you like.”

It was true, even Tony Stark wasn’t always in control of his goddamn mouth. 

The van lurched roughly to one side as Steve’s grip on the wheel jerked involuntarily. Tony grabbed at the passenger door for legitimate almost-falling-out-of-his-seat reasons, and he heard a rough chorus behind him of bodies thudding and teammates shouting at their rude awakening. He might have cackled like the unhinged lunatic he currently felt like, but if he did, it was under the cover of other people’s griping.

“Seriously, Steven?” Peggy Carter grumbled.

“Aw, coffee, no.” Clint Barton still sounded half asleep. It was even money on whether coffee actually had spilled on him or if he was just dreaming it.

“Is all well up front, my Captain?” Thor Odinson’s voice wasn’t quite a bellow, but it was close enough.

“Rogers.” Natasha Romanoff’s cold, detached tone promised murder.

“There are easier ways of asking for a driver swap,” Bruce Banner called out from the very back of the van. 

Even in the dim light, Tony could see the flush now painting Steve’s cheeks and creeping down his neck. He could also see the incredulous smile that Steve wasn’t even bothering to try to school into anything else. “I swear to God, Stark…”

“Ah, this is Tony’s fault, that makes more sense,” Natasha muttered.

“Lies! Lies and deceit,” Tony insisted, grinning with unabashed delight now.

“Now that I am awakened, I find myself in need of facilities,” Thor declared.

“Snacks!” Clint shouted. Apparently he was awake.

Peggy let out a sigh. “My legs could use the stretch.”

“Snacks!” Clint repeated.

“Are there any more unclaimed water bottles?” Bruce asked.

“Snnnnaaaaaaccks.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re like a pack of rabid, unwashed children,” Tony griped.

“They’re like family,” Steve replied, and the warmth in his tone was positively nauseating. 

Tony couldn’t help but adore it. 

Almost ten minutes later, having pulled into the first rest stop they found on the turnpike, Tony lingered by the passenger door while his other teammates spilled out of the van. Bleary eyed and stumbling, at least two of them talking far louder than was necessary at 2am, he found himself gazing on them with a new appreciation. Maybe Steve was onto something. They were his kind of insane, every last one of them. Wasn’t that all family was, at the end of the day?

He noticed Steve lingering too, fiddling with the keyfob as if he wasn’t positive he had already locked the van. He actually gave the door handle a tug, like the giant dork he was.

“Getting into character, there, Dad?” Tony wandered around to the driver’s side, his hands tucked into the pockets of his pants. He was rewarded with a renewed flush and self conscious smile.

“This equipment is worth a lot of money, gotta make sure it’s locked up,” Steve insisted.

“Uh-huh.” Tony came to a stop right in front of the blonde, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him. Like always, he felt the instinctual urge to melt into that warmth, but this time it was colored with the giddy-inducing prospect that such a gesture could possibly be welcomed. With an elegant flick of his wrist, Tony brought one of his hands out and offered a folded slip of paper caught between his index and middle finger. 

Confusion crossed Steve’s face but he accepted the paper, opening it before looking back at Tony with a flat look. “I already have your phone number.”

“Do you now? That’s so funny, because I only seem to see your name pop up when it’s one of the six different group chats we’re in.” Tony stepped in even closer, their chests almost but not quite brushing together. “You wanna get to know me, Rogers? Call me.”

The charge in the air was unmistakable, electric and warm and _fun_ ; easily the most fun Tony had felt with someone in ages. A small, puckish grin came to Steve’s lips, one that only ratcheted the atmosphere up to an 11. “That sounds more like a challenge than an invitation.”

“Consider it a royal decree if it gets you to man the hell up, Cap.” 

A shocked, indignant huff fell out of Steve’s mouth, and Tony grinned like the maniacal supervillain he knew he could be in another life.

“Fair warning, I don’t put out on the first date,” he threw over his shoulder as he wandered towards the rest area.

He didn’t need to see Steve tripping over his own feet to appreciate it. The sound of that big beautiful blonde nearly biting it on the curb was reward enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Steve, Peggy, and Bruce compete in Foil, Tony and Thor in Sabre, and Clint and Natasha in Épeé. In my head, anyway.


End file.
